Obsess [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

I’d never heard of Munchos until I met Kerri. I’d never pulled all of chip bags off the shelf at a store in search of Munchos until I met Kerri. I’d never been escorted out of a store by the police because of a Muncho search until I met Kerri. And, to make this fun, only two of the last three statements is actually true. Let me just add that the police were kind. Evidently, the officers that came that day appreciated Munchos as much as Kerri.

In reviewing the past several weeks of Smack-Dab, I see how snack-driven we really are. I’d have denied it outright before today. Dogga is completely food driven and you know what they say about people and their dogs. Dogga was in the car during our Munchos near-incarceration. He pretended that he didn’t know us though his deniability was questionable since he was in our car and had a collar with our phone number chiseled into it. The police were kind though. They cautioned him to keep a better eye on us and to forbid us from going back into the market. And then, they gave him a treat. Not a Muncho-treat. Those were nowhere to be found.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MUNCHOS!

smack-dab. © 2021 kerrianddavid.com

Release The Tether [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

As the old adage goes, timing is everything. It is a lesson I will probably never learn. When something pops into my noggin, I grab hold of it like the tether to a hot air balloon. I can’t let go of the tether until I’ve expressed it. So, I am, and always have been, a master of bad timing.

Kerri has adapted well to my balloon-filled-brain. She knows that I can release the tether, the balloon will fly away, and life will go on with or without my urgent need to capture-the-thought. And, usually, there will be a second chance: all balloons come down again and, sometimes, they arrive at just the right moment. No raincheck required.

read Kerri’s blog post about RAINCHECK

smack-dab. © 2021 kerrianddavid.com

Say, “Hi Pa.” [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Our morning ritual involves turning on the coffee, feeding Dogga, opening the windows, and greeting the plants. As part of our intentional beauty creation this summer, we surrounded ourselves with succulents and plants that called out to us. The plants have names: KC, Boston, Ralph, Spiky, Lil’ Bitch (she bites if you’re not paying attention). We call this beauty Snake-In-The-Grass.

We have to reach over Snake-In-The-Grass to open the back window. It’s an awkward maneuver and my elbow inevitably hits-and-sounds the bamboo chime that lives above and to the left of Snake-In-The-Grass. I don’t know when it started, but each time that chime sounds, I automatically say, “Hi Pa.”

Pa is Kerri’s dad and the bamboo chimes were his. I never met him, he passed before I met Kerri, but I have a nice relationship with him. I feel that I know him. Knew him. Kerri talks of him often. I swear he touched my shoulder one night, early in our relationship when we were in Florida visiting Beaky. It scared the hell out of me. It was a sweet touch, approval (I hope). That single touch began my relationship with Pa. I invoke him when I’m doing home repairs. I sit with him when Kerri is driving me nuts. He nicknamed her “Brat” so I usually ask his advice for how to navigate The Brat. He never answers but he does laugh out loud. Kerri and I both wear on our wrists a length of pull-chain that came from his workbench.

We received news the other day that my dad is failing fast. The message in the email was, “This may be it.” It. I.T. Two letters that point to the unfathomable. The inevitable. Later, after receiving the email, I was closing up the house for the night and I brushed the chime with my elbow. “Hi Pa,” I said, and my voice stopped me in my tracks. The bamboo whispered. A second touch on the shoulder. Reassurance.

“Thanks, Pa.”

Two dads. Pa. Columbus. Rich, rich relationships. Time moves. The nature of the relationship changes. I fear it and am comforted by it. The wind gently sounds the bamboo. Snake-In-The-Grass makes me reach. An awkward maneuver. A lovely way to begin and end the day, the certainty of a father.

read Kerri’s blog post about SNAKE-IN-THE-GRASS

Round The Corner [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Kerri breaks a pinkie toe about once a quarter. She is circular in her thinking so it only makes sense that she is circular in her movements. She regularly gets tangled in the vacuum cord – vacuuming in circles. The challenge for every circular thinker is that, unless they live in a yurt, they actually live in straight-line spaces. Circle in the square. Straight-line spaces, rooms shaped like rectangles, have corners and people that move and think in arcs often try to cut corners. Baby toes pay the price.

There is a special sound she makes when she’s re-broken her toe. There’s a special sound she makes when she sees a big spider. I’ve learned to discern the sounds. These days, instead of asking, “Is everything okay?” I know it is more efficient and helpful to ask, “Left or right?” Then, I find her writhing in a doorway and help her get off the floor.

read Kerri’s blog post about BABY TOES

smack-dab. ©️ 2021 kerrianddavid.com

Appreciate The Other Life [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Every so often we pick images for the melange according to a theme. A few weeks ago all of the images were green. This week we noticed that we had several photos of words or phrases so we decided to have a theme week. Yesterday featured a message on the tailgate of a truck, “Every day above ground is a blessing.” Today, the other life. La Otra Vida.

Kerri and I met in middle age so our history together is short. Our pals are couples who’ve been married for decades. It is common for us to leave dinner with friends, after lively conversation of raising kids, vacation stories or tales of pets from the past, and need to talk about the eras in life that we didn’t pass through together. Our cartoon, Chicken Marsala, came from a conversation about the kids that we didn’t have. What kind of parents would we have been together? What would we have done differently in life had we met when we were younger? Would we have fallen in love had the previous-versions-of-ourselves met at an earlier phase in our lives?

La Otra Vida. The other life. We’ll never know the answers to our speculative questions. I was not the person at 25 that I am today. Kerri did not know me during my train-wreck years. I was – and in many ways still am – a restless wanderer but I have developed over the years the capacity to sit still. To appreciate where I am.

Last night, sitting on the deck sipping wine, the sun was down and we had the torches burning. Dogga was asleep at our feet. We were listening to the soundtrack from the movie About Time and Arvo Pärt’s Spiegel im Spiegel, a heartbreaking piece for piano and cello, began playing. I memorized the moment because, in another life, at a time that I was not so happy, I knew that La Otra Vida was out there somewhere. The other life. I knew someday, minus a few demons and with a few more miles behind me, that I would one day sit outside on a cool evening, my wife’s hand in mine, my dog asleep at my feet, and know with absolute certainty that life could not possibly be better.

I savored the moment. I will never take for granted this, the other life.

read Kerri’s blog post about LA OTRA VIDA

Miss The Point [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Kerri is a detail girl. I’m a big-picture guy and generally live at 30,000 feet. It is common for us to have conversations about diametrically opposed topics and think we are talking about the same thing. It is also common, when we have a spat and are in mid-turmoil – to realize that we are, and have been all along, in absolute agreement. We’re simply looking at the same elephant from radically different points-of-view.

It is the reason that one of the most oft-spoke phrases in our house is: Wait! What are we talking about again?

read Kerri’s blog post about YELLOW AND GREY

smack-dab. ©️ 2021 kerrianddavid.com

Welcome Home [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

The people that bought my parent’s home flipped it in a few months. They remodeled the bathrooms and updated the kitchen. They refaced the fireplace. They pulled up the carpet and refinished the hardwood floors. It was gorgeous. It was a surprising chapter of what has become my unintentional 2021 mediation: home. At the beginning of the summer, after days of hauling and cleaning, as my last act before leaving for good, Kerri suggested that I crawl into the cedar closet of my boyhood bedroom (I loved sitting in that closet as a boy) and sign my name. A sweet goodbye and thank you. Home is a memory.

It was only a few months ago that we moved my mom into her “new home.” She wanders the halls and we know that time is the only cure for what she seeks. Home, for her, will be a feeling that finds her, at last, only after the wear and tear in the rooms is of her making. Her pacing is wearing a trail, carving a path. Home is a feeling.

In the past 8 months my dad has moved three times into his “new home.” Memory care facilities are surprisingly inept at caring for elders who’ve lost their memories. High price. Low care. Everything is a business: a theme/rant for another post. In his current home, finally, he feels safe and, after a trip out, wants to return to his room. Home is safety.

Before his memory was gone, we took my dad back to his hometown, Monticello, Iowa. His primary need was to show us the tiny Home that his grandfather built. It’s the place where his dad was born. It is across the yard from where he was born. His tales were glorious in their hardship. They needed very little to make good memories. Today, the tiny house built with no money and huge heart is a storage shed but through my father’s eyes it was nothing short of a castle. I will always savor the image of him standing in front of his Home. Home is an origin and an anchor.

When we pull into the driveway, after a long trip or a jaunt to the store, we always greet our home, “Hello, happy house!” Our home feels alive, a presence or being. The walls carry our story. The rooms remember and replay the voices of her children. We’re packing a lot of story into the walls of our old house. It is packing a lot of story into us. Home is a relationship.

When we came upon the woodpecker-condo-tree, Brad said in jest, “Why don’t you stick your hand in there.” We laughed. “I told him I’d be like the monkey with its fist in the coconut, I wouldn’t be able to let go of the critter inside and also wouldn’t be able to get my fist out of the small hole. I’d be stuck on the trail forever. The woodpecker condo would be my new home. Kerri and Jen were inspecting the perfect circles. It felt good to be on a walk with them. It had been a long time since we’d had the chance to just hang out. Home is a friendship.

We had tacos at Jay and Charlies with the Up North gang. Jay showed us her new porch. We sat in the shade and drank margaritas and laughed. I told Jay that her porch and yard felt serene. She smiled and told me that it was her sanctuary. I was, for a moment, completely overwhelmed by how much life we’ve walked with these special people. Passages. We’ve shared and received so much support – immediate presence when need arose – from our stalwart gang. Sanctuary. Home is a community.

It’s just as the needlepoint declares: Home is sweet.

read Kerri’s blog post on Home Sweet Home

Refresh [on Two Artists Tuesday]

It’s been true since we met. People stop us in airports and on the street, they give us thumbs up or take a faux paparazzi-photograph. They tell us that we are cute or “lookin’ good!” Once, a shopkeeper came out of his store to tell us that we made him smile. When we walk the neighborhood, we are often met with people who tell us that we make their day. It always takes us by surprise and it always makes us smile.

What are people seeing? We are older and link arms when we walk. We hold hands. Our clothes are unintentionally the same. Black on blue jeans. We walk slowly. We talk to each other. We stroll; a walk without a destination. We don’t know what inspires the comments but always appreciate them.

Kerri always coos when she sees a horse. In our imaginary life, she has horses, a donkey, and an old truck. We were walking on the trail in our flip flops (that always gets a raised eyebrow or two) when the cowboy came around the bend. “A horse!” Kerri whispered, and squeezed my arm. The cowboy sat up in his saddle, nodded as he rode passed, then said, “You look like you like each other.”

“We do.” I replied.

Perhaps it is that simple. We like each other.

We’re fortunate. Our work allows us to be together all day. Every day. That would, I’m sure, be the end of most relationships. We like it. When I need feedback on a painting, she is my best wise-eyes. “What do you see?” I ask. We read our posts to each other before we publish. We edit together. We cook together. We create together. Our list of joint projects is growing. Lately, our once-weekly-cartoon about…well…us, Smack-dab., is giving us tremendous energy. It is fun. We poke fun at ourselves. We capture the ridiculous and the poignant. We pay attention to the marvels of simple relationship.

Picasso said that, “Love is the greatest refreshment in life.” He also said that, “Art is the elimination of the unnecessary.” Those thoughts, placed side-by-side, I believe, holds the reason a cowboy sat up in his saddle and a shopkeeper ran into the street. We are refreshed. We practice the elimination of the unnecessary – on canvas, at the piano, and in life.

We didn’t try to make 24/7 togetherness. There was no rule or expectation. It’s what we wanted. It’s what we want.

I am on jury duty this week and was at the courthouse most of the day. When she came to fetch me I got in the car and we said at the same time, “That was weird!”

“Tell me everything!” she said.

“No. You first! What did you and Dogga do?” Our conversation took us deep into the night. There’s so much life and so little time. Perhaps that’s it. We know this day is precious and fleeting and act accordingly. It must show.

read Kerri’s blog post about YOU MUST LIKE EACH OTHER

See The Spaces [on DR Thursday]

The space around and between. Shapes that share edges. Emptiness that provides definition. In art it is called negative space. Not-the-object. In art classes, students draw the negative spaces in order to see or to learn a new way of seeing. Try it. See the holes and the space around the leaves as primary. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

Some folks use the term “air space” because they get snagged on the word “negative.” It’s a term of opposition when set next to “positive.” Yet, just as there is an electric field that flows between negative and positive ions, electrons and protons, there is a field that flows between negative and positive space. Yin and Yang. A dynamic polarity. A creative field of movement and energy. The air space is alive because of the perceived opposition. The positive space is not visible without the negative.

When I was a consultant, I used the phrase “the space between” to imply relationship. There are people. There is the space between people. Relationship is invisible but it defines the people. Relationship illuminates the otherwise unknowable individual. They are impossible to separate. In a community obsessed with nouns, bottom lines, test scores and individual rights, the verbs and the relationships often go unnoticed and unappreciated. As if the negative space didn’t matter. The space between is where the movement lives and the problems are solved. It is where new seeing is possible. It is created and creative. The word “community” lives in the space between.

Try it. Take a day and focus on the space between. See relationship as primary. You may experience a whole new way of seeing.

20 sent this image,a memorial. It makes the point.

read Kerri’s blog post about NEGATIVE SPACE

iconic ©️ 2010 david robinson

Prepare To Dine! [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

When I first moved to Wisconsin, Kerri barely let me into the kitchen. One night, Craig and I literally had to remove her from the stove so we could make her dinner. The kitchen was her domain. I knew I was “in” when she “let” me make dinner and didn’t pace behind my preparations. The real score came the night 20 and I made her dinner and she sat at the table, ate snacks and sipped wine. Angels sang. Hell froze over. Dinner was delicious.

Let’s just say that it’s been a process. Mostly, we cook together. I am an excellent sous chef. It gives me great pleasure to chop ingredients and put the readied vegetables in little bowls; Kerri imagines she is hostess of a cooking show. One way or another, we’ve always managed to make our meals into fine dining experiences – or just fun experiences.

The bottom line: we are dedicated eaters.

read Kerri’s blog post about DINNER

smack-dab. ©️ 2021 kerrianddavid.com